


all in

by mirocthound



Series: it’s easy as one, two, three [4]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Anger Management, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because they be dumb like that, Canon Non-Binary Character, Conflict Resolution, Domestic Fluff, FUCKING FINALLY, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Or am I, Other, Polyamory, Ridiculously Domestic, Swearing, a lot of internal monologuing, because i have a potty mouth, but thats okay he figures it out without resorting to violence, dun dun dunnnnn, elliott's horrible pet cat, its here lads, jk haha, mirocthound, tavi kind of has anger issues, this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirocthound/pseuds/mirocthound
Summary: octavio can't take this shit anymore. really, guys, he's at his fucking limit.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt, Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva, Bloodhound/Octane | Octavio Silva, Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Series: it’s easy as one, two, three [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540366
Comments: 9
Kudos: 94





	all in

**Author's Note:**

> fucking finally. thats all i have to say. 
> 
> listen to 'how did we get so dark' by royal blood. 'softcore' by the neighbourhood is also acceptable.

When Octavio awoke, he was seconds from being suffocated to death. It took a few moments of confusion and terror before he was able to piece together what was happening, and he batted at the mass of fluff and fat that was currently snoozing happily over his mouth and nose. 

“ _Hijo de— bájate!!”_

The beast let out a sharp hiss, before she scurried off to the corner of the bed, complaining and yowling the whole way, but not before scratching up Octavio’s cheek out of spite. 

The speedster sat up, lungs heaving for _precious, precious air_ , scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his hands. Then glared over at the ball of white fur perched at the foot of the bed— who was all too happy to glare right back at him. 

Miss Kitty was Elliott’s beloved and treasured cat. Octavio had no idea why he was so fond of her— she was bitter and feral and cranky most of the time. She looked innocent enough with her long, soft white fur, collar pink and studded with little gems, nameplate perfectly centered, gleaming and golden, embroidered with ‘Miss K’ in cursive font. But Octavio knew the truth. That cat was a devil, and he was pretty sure she was _actually attempting his demise_. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her.

She was a mean old thing, hating anyone and everyone who stepped through the door. Except for two people, to Octavio’s knowledge: Wraith and Bloodhound.

She even hated _Elliott_ , but the trickster either didn’t know or didn’t care. He loved spoiling her with plush little pillows and beds, the finest kitty cuisine, and a whole array of bows and collars that he’d switch out from time to time. He’d croon and preen at her for _hours_ , all while she snapped at him and swiped her ferocious claws at his throat, aiming to kill, no doubt. 

“The feeling is mutual.” He grumbled to her, and he could’ve sworn her yellow eyes narrowed further.

After such a disorienting waking call, it took him just a few moments to figure out exactly where he was and what he was doing. He usually woke after passing out on his couch, controller in hand, legs still on and causing some uncomfortable cramps to settle into his thighs. 

But instead, he was properly covered in soft, plush blankets, cocooned dead center in a bed he was all too familiar with. His legs were neatly propped up next to the bed within arms reach, and there was a bottle of water on the nightstand. He let out a groan, slumping back into the pillows, the exhaustion washing over him in a massive wave.

He didn’t intend to fall asleep here. He had planned on stopping by for dinner, making a haphazard excuse and leaving whenever Elliott and Hound seemed like they were ready to go to bed…

But sure enough, last night, he’d been sandwiched between them on the couch, and the bowl of soup had been delicious and hearty. Elliott _was_ a good chef after all.

And even though he always seemed to be bouncing off the walls, it really didn’t take much to calm him down. And those two knew the perfect recipe— a good meal, somewhere warm to sit where he was being comfortably squished into place, and a cheesy horror movie to cackle at as sleep gently pulled him under. It hadn’t helped that the last few nights had been spent restlessly tossing and turning, or playing video games to keep his mind distracted. He thought he’d be able to make it through without crumbling to the temptation, but once he had slumped over and Elliott began to pet through his hair? He was sure he was out snoring within seconds.

Now, he felt the frustration began to coil deep within his stomach, and it tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. _Why was he here?_ If he wasn’t there to get fucked, then why the hell was he here? Why did they invite them into their home, give him a place to sleep, put so much effort into making him feel comfortable and at ease— only to let him fall asleep in their laps? He didn’t get it, and it only made everything more blurry and hard to understand. Why would they do all of this, without him upholding his end of the deal?

It was frustrating because it _hurt_ , just as badly as any bullet in the arena, and he didn’t want to deal with this mess of emotion any more. He was _tired_ . Even if his body was well rested, his soul was beyond exhausted. He hated running circles in his brain, listing reasons, having to remind himself to pull back. But there was nothing sexual about snuggling him on the couch when he was sick— and that was a _problem_ . He didn’t want to blur boundaries any further than they already were. Any more of this, and he wouldn’t be able to detach the reality that Hound and Elliott did this just to be nice, from the fiction that they did this because they _lov—_

He rolled over, burying his head angrily into the pillows, teeth biting into his tongue so hard he could almost taste blood. No, no no no, that was a thought he very specifically wanted to keep the fuck out of his head. Just the idea made his chest feel tight and his stomach twist. It was wrong to think like this, it was wrong to have these thoughts about _friends_.

But he was tired of controlling his thoughts 24/7, and it only got harder and harder with each passing day. Like his emotions were a shaken can of soda, or an abandoned bottle of champagne, forgotten in the freezer. He could almost _feel_ the pressure building and building, growing more difficult to keep contained. Feeling like he was going to blow every second? It was fucking _frustrating_.

And Octavio didn’t deal with frustration well. He didn’t deal with _anything_ well, but especially frustration. Back when he was a kid, he was always the type to solve altercations with fists. Even now, when he got too drunk and too loud mouthed at clubs and shows, he was all too fast to tackle someone to the ground, rather than talk it out first. 

He didn’t know what to do. There was no way to escape, not without having to go through Elliott or Hound first. There was no way to get out of this moment, let the anger in his stomach fizzle out, before approaching the situation later. All he could feel was the uncomfortable frustration coiling tighter and tighter inside of him until he wanted to scream.

He couldn’t stop the questions from cycling through his head. He couldn’t stop wondering, pondering, _begging_ for a goddamn answer. Why did they invite him here in the first place? Why did they invite him here to watch movies and eat dinner and nap on their couch when all they wanted from him was a quick fuck? Why did they extend this so far for a fuck buddy?

Octavio sat up, fingers tapping rhythmically against the covers, body vibrating already with too much energy. He wanted to run away. He wanted to drink. He wanted to hop in the ring and shoot everyone in sight. He wanted to go back to bed.

There was a soft knock on the door, and he was tempted to just fall back onto the pillows and pretend he was sleeping again. But before he could, the knob turned, and a familiar face peeked in, eyes soft and warm. 

“Rise n’ shine, sweet cheeks. I made some omelettes, you want some?”

Elliott’s eyes were sweet and his expression was bright and welcoming. He just looked… so _genuinely happy_ to see him awake, and it made Octavio’s frustration rise up, angry and _wild_ , like there was some animal ensnared in his ribs. His throat felt hot and dry. He didn’t like being angry. He didn’t like feeling this way anymore— especially around Elliott and Hound. It made him feel like he was a problem kid again, mad at everyone around him, mad at his family, mad at the world, unable to control _anything_ , let alone something as simple as his own emotions.

Nobody deserved his anger, let alone these two.

“Uhh… yeah— yeah. Sorry, not quite hungry yet. Y’know, just woke up.” Octavio replied, hands coming up to scrub at his face a bit. Trying to soothe his raw nerves and just focus on making it through this morning.

“Well, let's hope that changes.” Elliott joked with a signature smile. “No rush, no pressure. Feeling any better today?”

No.

“Yeah— yeah. A bit.”

Elliott beamed, as if that were the best news he’d heard all year. “Hell yeah you do! That soup is an old Witt Family Recipe, so I’m not surprised. Well— whenever you’re feeling ready, the table's set. Come join!”

Miss Kitty saw her opportunity for an escape, and she gracefully dropped off the bed, slinking out the door and down the hall. Elliott’s eyes sparkled at the sight of her. 

“Awwwww, hello my stunning princess!!” He closed the door, but Octavio could still hear his crooning follow after her down the hall, before slowly fading out— along with the angry yowl from the hellcat that usually followed Elliott trying to pick her up. “Have you had a nice morning, princess? Of course you have, my spoiled baby girl. Daddy loves you~~ You want some breakfast nummies? Let’s get you some nummies…” 

It took a while for Octavio to pull himself to the edge of the bed and fit on his legs. It took even longer than that for him to pull his mind into shape, to cool off, to focus on his breathing. _There is a time and place to be angry. This isn’t that time._

When he emerged from the room, he could smell eggs and bacon and cheese wafting from the kitchen. He could hear muffled conversation and soft laughter. The hallway suddenly seemed a lot longer than it usually was— as if a scene from a horror film, extending out before him, yet only leading him to his inevitable doom.

And yet, despite every single one of his instincts demanding that he turn around and vault himself out of the nearest window, he just shuffled forward, closing the distance between himself and the kitchen until he could peek his head through the doorway.

The sight before him was pure domestic bliss. Elliott stood, in nothing but a pair of the most gaudy pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, flipping an omelette in a pan, as Hound pressed up behind him— equally shirtless, with nothing but a pair of baggy grey sweatpants, hunched down to rest their head on his shoulder. They must’ve been murmuring in his ear, because Elliott snorted, playfully elbowing them back before they stood to their full height, grinning, hands still lingering at his hips. As they murmured to him, they tried to reach around to the plate of bacon that sat perched on the counter, but Elliott just swatted their hand away with the spatula, scolding for them to wait. 

Octavio tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, to no avail. It was stuck there, and it made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. Whether it were butterflies in his stomach or a hunk of lead, he couldn’t tell.

Seeming to sense that they were being watched, Hound tilted their head towards the door, before they smiled. “Octavio. How nice of you to join us.” They said— soft, pleased. It was so jarringly different from the commanding tone they held inside the ring. Octavio wondered idly if they were even the same person.

Elliott whipped his head around, like an eager puppy— and sure enough, there was that winning smile, so much brighter and happier than the one he flashed for the crowds. The vain, masochistic part of Octavio whispered that it was a smile he saved just for him. 

“Hey!! Look who’s finally outta bed!”

He awkwardly shifted his weight from metal leg to metal leg, hands clasped before him. He didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t even sure he could speak. Yet he cleared his throat, and gave it a shot anyways.

“Uh… yeah. Hey.”

_Nailed it._

“We were just preparing to eat. Care to join us?” Hound hummed, gesturing towards the tiny little table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. There was a bigger table they would use when multiple people came over, but Octavio quickly learned that Hound and Elliott preferred to eat at this smaller one— or, even more often, curled up on the couch.

Wordlessly, he moved to the little table, dragging out one of the chairs and taking a seat. His metal foot wouldn’t stop bouncing against the tile, the soft ‘tap tap tap’ similar to the tick of a time bomb. It felt much louder than it really was. 

“Coffee?” Hound offered, pouring a cup for Elliott, Octavio guessed, due to how much sugar and cream they were shoveling into it. The speedster just shook his head, fingertips idly drumming against the tabletop. He didn’t know what to do with himself— why he couldn’t behave like he usually did was beyond him. Maybe it could play into the whole ‘feeling sick’ thing, and end up making it all the more believable.

But something about the way Hound glanced up at him, eyes sharp and piercing, made him feel like it wasn’t true. He knew as well as anyone else that they had built a whole career off their ability to notice little things that were out of place. His shoulders curled in just a little bit, as if he were trying to hide from their stare. He knew it was useless— Hound could see through everything and anything, and they didn’t need their fancy tech to do it, either. 

He was so lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed Elliott setting the table until a warm plate was placed right before him. On a normal day, he’d probably shovel half of it down before Elliott could even sit back down, but today was anything but a normal day, and Octavio was pretty sure food in his stomach would just make him feel like throwing up. Instead, he just poked at the egg with his fork, focusing on watching the cheese sprinkled on top slowly melt. It looked good— it always did— but he was pretty sure it would just taste like glue to him.

“Sleep well?”

His head snapped up, and he immediately regretted it, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. Hound had him pinned with their gaze, as they slowly set their glass of orange juice back down on the table. The question felt loaded, for some reason.

_Fuck no, ‘some reason’ headass. You think they wouldn’t be able to tell something is up? God, maybe they felt I’ve been staring at Elliott too much. Or maybe it’s too obvious I’m not even sick and they think I’m lying to them. Well— okay, I kind of am, but not in the way that they think. Fuck, who even knows what they think?! They could be thinking_ ** _anything_** _right now, I don’t even have a_ ** _clue_** _—_

Elliott seemed unaware of the tension between them— he was humming to himself as he stuffed his cheeks with egg and bacon and cheese, before speaking up. “Yeah, Tavi! you were out like a _light—_ “

“Do not speak with your mouth full, my beloved.” Hound reminded gently, and Elliott cut himself off, cheeks flushed red as he hurried to chew and swallow his mouth full, before trying again. “Yeah, yeah— you totally just konked out on the couch. You looked like you needed some rest, man. I mean— more than usual. Everyone needs their beauty sleep.”

“Mmhm.” Hound agreed, still watching him, and Octavio fidgeted, his leg bouncing, mechanical joints whirring with the motion. Even when he forced his eyes back down to his own plate, he could still feel their stare boring holes right through his head.

“Uh— yeah. Just been doing a lot of streaming. Y’know how that keeps me up.” 

“Ah. We try to watch your streams, but I didn’t get any notifications that you were starting one these last few evenings. Did you, Elliott?” Hound asked, and even though Octavio’s head was still down, he was pretty sure they hadn’t looked away. 

“Huh? Oh— nah, I—“

“Chew first, _Elskan.”_ They reminded once more, voice still carrying that fond tone that it only ever did for Elliott. It made Octavio’s heart feel light and heavy at the same time. He didn’t even know that feeling was possible, until he started staying with them both. Since then, he’d gotten used to the sensation.

“Ok ok— yeah— but I didn’t get one either! Damn, is twitch like, buggin out or something?” The trickster piped up after swallowing, lips pursed as he struggled to remember the last time he saw Octavio had been online. 

Octavio’s fingers drummed restlessly against the table, sweat beading at the back of his neck. He chanced a glance upwards, and immediately looked back down. Hound had shifted, elbows propped on the table, chin perched on their hands, still directly facing him. This was brutal— he wasn’t sure how long he could sit here and take this. He felt like he was a criminal under investigation. This was _torture_. 

“It must be.” They agreed. Octavio was pretty sure that they didn’t agree, actually, and he really wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

The pressure was building again. It was coiling in his stomach, it was pushing up his throat, and it felt like his teeth were the only thing holding it back. His nails scratched at the wooden table, and he clenched his jaw. 

There was nothing comforting about this. He wanted to go back to his room. He didn’t know why he was here if it was just going to bring him more frustration and pain— the whole _point of him coming here_ was to let go. He looked up to Hound again, meeting their stare, and this time he didn’t back down. He sat up a little straighter. If they had something they wanted to say, they could just _say_ it already. Why was _he_ the one feeling guilty and uncomfortable, when _they_ had fucking pestered him into coming over in the first place?

None of this was his fault. None of this was even his _idea_ . Why did the two of them get to live their domestic fairy-tale while he wallowed like this? The anger was rising again, and his tongue felt hot in his mouth. He didn’t like it— he didn’t like being mad at them, and yet that only made him _madder._

Octavio set down his fork, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. Hound raised an eyebrow, as if challenging to speak first. He didn’t know why he was feeling so hostile— they were just _looking_ at him. But he hated feeling like they could see through him— like they could read all his thoughts and feelings, like they understood more about him then _he_ even did. It was so fucking _frustrating_ , and he was sick of being sad. He wanted to feel something else for once.

What, had they already figured it all out or something? Were they trying to pity him? Goad him into speaking up, goad him into pouring out his heart, only to have it awkwardly declined in a gentle, formal manner? _What were they staring at him for??_ He didn’t get it, and it lit a fire under his ass. 

Elliott, happily oblivious, was slurping at his coffee— sputtering when he discovered it was too hot, and lunged to snatch Hound’s orange juice to soothe his burnt tongue.

Eventually, Octavio had enough. “Do you have, like, a problem or something?” He eventually said, and the words tasted like acid. Part of him wished he could take it back— but he was a no-regrets type of guy, and there was no sense in trying to change what happened. Looks like he was rolling with it. 

Elliott’s head whipped up, eyebrows tilted in surprise, then concern. He was still sticking his tongue out (He should get some ice or something…), but at the sudden change of mood, slowly closed his mouth, glancing nervously between the two. “Uh… h-haha, what?”

Hound only shrugged, head tilting to the side. “No, I do not. But if you do, you are welcome to share it with us.” 

Octavio pressed his tongue to his cheek, still glaring forward. Elliott opened his mouth, probably to say something, but was only interrupted. 

“What makes you think I have a problem, huh?”

“You’ve been behaving… _odd_ all morning, for one.” 

“So? Maybe I’m just tired.” 

“Nobody here believes that.” 

Their quiet tone and careful words only made his chest feel swollen and his face feel hot. _He was the one with the problem? He wasn’t the one who started a passive-aggressive staring contest from the moment he stepped into the room, so why was this_ **_his_ ** _problem, huh?_

He hated feeling like he was being spoken down to, and Hound was a master at it. Whether they intended it or not, they pushed his buttons in all the wrong ways, and Octavio swept his tongue across his teeth, piercing clacking back and forth. His leg was bouncing faster now, fingernails digging into his biceps.

“I don’t get what this is about. So? Am I not allowed to have a bad day?”

Hound finally closed their eyes, and Octavio felt somewhat relieved that they stopped _looking at him like that_ , and just leaned back in their chair, holding up their palms in a non-confrontational gesture. 

“I did not intend to upset you. I apologize.”

“Gotta work on your communication skills, babe.” Elliott piped up quietly, just looking down at his omelette, pushing it around with his fork. 

“ _Thank you_ , Elliott.” Hound responded, looking down as well. They didn’t sound very thankful. 

“Thought we agreed we were gonna talk about this after breakfast? Uh, yeah, what happened there?” The trickster added, a hint of bitterness in his tone. Octavio’s eyes were darting between the two— and the anger in his chest swelled like a balloon. Talk? Talk about _what?_ The idea that they had been discussing something behind his back— it enraged him as much as it terrified him. But being scared wasn’t an option. He’d fought so hard for so long to hide away all the vulnerable parts of himself, and he wasn’t going to stop doing that any time soon— so there was left to express was the rage. 

“Well _clearly_ breakfast wasn’t going as planned, so I decided to just address the issue.”

“So starting a fight is ‘addressing the issue’? We agreed I would do the talking.” Elliott supplied blandly, shaking his head, finally giving up on the dream of a nice breakfast and placing his own fork down, pushing his plate towards the center of the table. 

Hound crinkled their nose— an annoyed little gesture of theirs that Octavio had picked up on over time— and just huffed, shrugging again. “I wasn’t _trying_ to, I just—“

“Talk about _what?”_

The two stopped their lovers quarrel at the interruption. Octavio didn’t even sound like himself— there was no energy or excitement in his tone. It was low and dangerous, and _oh_ , if he wasn’t ready for a fight before, he was _rarin_ ’ for one now. He spent his whole life with people talking behind his back, and he wasn’t ready to let that sorta shit slide with Ell and Hound.

“Why you’ve been avoiding us.” 

Hounds words were sharp and quick— thrown across the room the same way they threw their knife when finishing an enemy in the battlefield. It took Octavio back, and he blinked. 

_“Wow—_ wow wow, okay, you’re really bad at this and you need to shut up. Like. Now.” Elliot said hurriedly. “Houndie’s done talking. Still love you, though. But no more.” He babbled awkwardly, reaching over to pat their lap. The hunter let out a small breath, before seeming to silently agree, looking off to the side to let Elliott take over.

“Ok ok— backtrack time. Listen— Tav, we know you got your own life and stuff, and we’re not trying to impose or accuse or— or _anything_ !! Really! I just… I guess the right word is _worried._ We’re worried.” Elliott’s words were soft and genuine, and Octavio hated the way they seemed to soothe his raw nerves. He huffed, blowing his bangs out of his face, a bad feeling curling in his stomach. 

The trickster took a moment to gather his thoughts, before picking up where he left off. “But you’ve just… been a little distant lately. I… I don’t mind if you don’t wanna come over, but… it’s okay to be honest with us, you know? It’s just… it doesn’t feel good to be left out of the loop. Alright? That’s— that’s really all we were trying to say. A-and— and that you can _always_ talk to us. We— w-www—“ he stopped briefly, eyes wandering around the room, refusing to meet Octavio’s, before he finally settled on what to say. “We _care about you_ , okay? We want to know you’re… you’re doin’ alright.” 

_Well I’m not. What do you want me to say? ‘Hey guys, I’m in love with you and every moment I’m not with you it feels like a part of me is missing, but whenever I_ **_am_ ** _with you it feels like I’m the most unneeded and useless person to have ever existed’._

Hound nodded, arms still folded over their chest, still staring down at the table. Their silent agreement with Elliott’s monologue only made the bad feeling in his stomach grow even more. He didn’t think his recent absence would even be noticed— those two were so busy being _happy_ and _together_ he guessed he didn’t think he’d be missed. 

“I’m doing just fine.”

_Not really, I haven’t slept in days. Let alone showered. Honestly, how are you guys even sitting near me right now? I feel like shit— I probably look like it too._

The pressure was back, and worse than ever. Octavio felt like he couldn’t stay still. It was like so many things were bubbling up inside of him, so many conflicting feelings and thoughts. Sitting here, listening to their worry, listening to their frustration— he just wanted to go home. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to come back.

Elliott put his arms up in a defeated gesture at the blatant deflection, not accepting the bullshit answer the speedster gave. “Tav— something is _wrong_ , okay? You— you don’t have to tell us the details, but at least give us an idea so we know how you want us to approach you! We can _tell,_ you haven’t been _yourself_ recently, and we don’t think just leaving you to wallow is a good ide—“

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

It was like the pressure popped inside of him. Suddenly his teeth were unlocked and the words were pouring out before he could stop them. And once they were out, there was no going back. He wished he could take them back. The small bit of relief he felt at letting the pressure go was very quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of dread. The conversation that was coming next would be unavoidable. For a brief moment, he wished he could just shovel the words right back down his throat, lock up his jaw and throw away the key. 

Elliott was silent, features locked with surprise. He put his arms down, leaning back a little in his chair. “Wh… wha— what do you mean by that?” He asked, voice uncharacteristically fragile. “You… don’t want to talk about this anymore?” 

“No, I-- I don’t want to do _this_ anymore. _Us,_ Elliott. Any of this. I just— I— I don’t want _us_ anymore.” 

The silence was deafening. The kitchen was void of any sound— save for the bubbling of the coffee machine on the counter. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Octavio felt it was now or never.

“We had a good run, yeah?” He said hurriedly, scooting his chair away from the table and standing to his feet, before pushing the chair back in. “Thanks. For everything. But— I think we’re done.” 

“Why?”

It was Hound’s voice now, as cool and collected as it always was. The stability in their tone shocked Octavio a little bit— it was unsettling, and it caught him off guard.

“Wh— come on, does that even matter? All that matters is I think— I think we’re done.”

“It does matter. Could you tell us why?”

Octavio licked his lips nervously, body feeling jittery. It was like adrenaline— his fight or flight reflexes, kicking in. He just shook his head, moving around the table and towards the living room. 

“It’s— there’s nothing _to_ explain! I’m just— I’m done.” He said quickly, refusing to meet their gaze— but Elliott stood up hurriedly from his own seat as Octavio passed him. 

“Elliott—“ Hound warned, but their voice did not calm him. Not this time. 

“No— Octavio, you can’t just— you don’t get to— wait up!!” He called out, voice laced with distress and panic. The speedster didn’t want to think about it, and continued pushing towards the door. 

“You don’t get to just _go_ like this!! At least talk to us!” Elliott pleaded, and Octavio refused to turn around and face him. He could hear the way Elliott’s voice strained and wavered, and he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to see how he’d hurt him. He didn’t expect to hear any pain in his tone.   
  
But it didn’t matter. Any sadness he made them feel, they had each other to work it through with. Within the hour, they’d be fine, probably. He, on the other hand, wasn’t going to be so lucky. Maybe he should text Ajay, tell her to meet him at his place. The idea of returning to his empty apartment didn’t seem as appealing as it had minutes earlier. 

“I’m pretty sure I _can,”_ he replied instead. “There aren't any rules about any of this— what, do I need to give a two weeks notice?! I’m done!! That’s that! I don’t _owe_ you anything!!” He could hear Elliott hurrying behind him, and the sound of Hound’s chair scraping across the floor as they stood. 

“ _You don’t just get people to care about you and then turn around and_ **_leave_ ** _!!”_

The trickster’s voice was raw, and Octavio was so shocked by the sound, he was turning around before he could even stop himself. 

Elliott stood in the kitchen doorway, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and glistening. Hound seemed to be lingering hesitantly behind him, a hand hovering by his waist, before deciding against it, dropping back down to their side. Both of their gazes were pinned onto him, and Octavio couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the way they held themselves, like they were ready to take a blow, preparing for damage control. He couldn’t stand the way Elliott stared at him with disbelief— and he couldn’t even _tell_ what expression Hound was wearing. Idly, he thought to himself that they would dominate a game of poker. 

Octavio shifted his weight back and forth, forcing himself to look down to the floor. 

And, for a moment, he _thought_ \-- which was uncharacteristic, for him. But the more he thought, the more he figured that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and he didn’t even consider that. He thought maybe they would be so happy, caught up in their perfect romance, that they wouldn’t even notice if he just… dipped. 

He didn’t know what he wanted at this point. He guessed it would be easier if they had just shrugged and agreed, but at the same time, the idea of that left a sour twist in his gut. That greedy little voice inside him was even a little _happy_ , that they weren’t willing to let him go so easily.   
  
And yet— _this_ was horrible too. He felt trapped, stuck between a rock and a hard place. There was no right decision for this, there was no ‘get out of jail free’, there was no quick fix or easy explanation. 

This isn’t how he’d planned the morning to go.

The room was stale, and it felt like everyone was balanced on a tightrope. One false step and everything was going to come crashing to the ground.

Octavio took a deep breath. He wasn’t the type to trip fall— he _always_ took the plunge before he even had the chance to slip up. 

_If things are gonna go down, they’re gonna go down on my terms._

“It’s… it’s getting too real.” 

He didn’t like the way his voice sounded. He tried his best to enunciate, to pronounce each word slow and even, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, and the phrase came out trembly and thin. 

“It’s— I— I don’t know what you _want_ from me.” He followed up, shoving his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists. His fingernails cut into his palms, but he only squeezed harder. “You— you invited me here just… just for fun. It… it was a _joke.”_

He thought back to the way Hound had cornered him outside the showers, all coy and teasing and playful. He thought about the way he and Elliott flirted shamelessly on the field. Those moments, those interactions— there was nothing serious behind them. It was easy, it was fun, it was straightforward. And most importantly, it was nothing like the way those two interacted with each other. There was a very different energy between the relationships. Elliott and Hound were two halves of a whole, and Octavio was just the bonus accessory that came on the side. 

“B-but then, you started inviting me to dinner— then spending the night, then breakfast the next day. A-and— and it just— I… I just feel so— I’m— I just _don’t get it!”_

He couldn’t look up. He didn’t want to see what sort of expression either of them had. Whether it was shock, disgust, concern— or _pity_. He couldn’t bear it. But now that he started, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop.

“It feels weird!! Isn’t this weird?! I mean— we’re friends and all, but it— it’s too much. It's one thing to just… ‘wham bam see you later’ but this whole… _closeness_ — I mean, _fuck_ , I feel like I’m witnessing these moments between you that _aren’t meant for me_ and it— it— it just— it _hurts!_ B-because I know… I know this isn’t supposed to mean anything but… I guess I just get carried away…” 

The floor was becoming blurry. Octavio was certain it was because he was staring at it for too long, and not because of the tears pooling in his eyes.

He thought maybe closing them would fix the problem, but that only made the liquid pool down his cheeks and drip off of his chin. He hurriedly brought his hands up, pawing at his face to wipe it all away.

And then someone was holding him. 

He knew it was Elliott before he even opened his eyes, just from the way his head could fit, perfectly tucked under his chin. He knew from the scruff of his beard, he knew from the scent of his aftershave and his special face cream that he used to help with the dark circles under his eyes. 

He was hugging him so close and so tight. His hands were settled right into the small of Octavio’s back, and it felt almost smothering but it’s the way he liked it, and he was too tired to try and fight it, so he just let himself sink into Elliott’s hold. Now with his face hidden into the crook of his neck, he didn’t have to wipe away the tears as they bubbled up and fell down his face. 

He couldn’t even collect his thoughts before there were more arms around him, a familiar warm weight pressing up against his back, the rough, calloused skin of their palm gently settling against his upper arm. Tenderness from Hound was rarer, at times, but very rewarding. He didn’t fight their hold either, and they wrapped their arms around them both, squeezing him just as close. 

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. The three of them stood in silence for a long while, and when he even tried to wriggle just a little, Elliott just squeezed him tighter. 

He didn’t know how long they stood there for, it could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. The moment was so fragile, it felt like a single wrong movement could shatter it, and none of them wanted to. They stood, locked together, until Octavio couldn’t take the feeling of wetness in his face and had to lift a hand to wipe it away hurriedly— hiding the evidence.

“We… w-we didn’t— we weren’t—“ Elliott was fumbling over his words, the letters falling clumsily from his tongue.   
  
Octavio felt like his throat was swollen, and he couldn’t speak. Here it was. _We… We didn’t mean to make you feel like that. It wasn’t meant to be this way. We didn’t mean for it to go so far. We weren’t planning on—_   
  
“We feel the same.”   
  
Now, those were some words he wasn’t expecting to hear. 

And to hear them from Bloodhound? Their voice was as collected as always, and if anything, that threw him off even more. The levelness in their tone, the way they spoke with confidence and surety. As if there was no question in what they were saying, no hesitation.   
  
It was like a shock to his system. He didn’t know how to react, how to process what they said. It was like he’d been plummeting at high speed, ready to crash headfirst into the concrete, only to find at the last second it was water instead.   
  
And then Elliott started babbling, and Octavio didn’t know how to handle what was being told to him.   
  
“I-- We-- We’re so sorry, Oc…” He hiccupped, and when Octavio looked up, his face was a mess. Elliott was always so sweet, so empathetic. Whatever you were feeling, he felt for you ten times worse. He already had tears just dripping down his cheeks, and he was sniffing-- struggling to keep his nose from running all over. “We… We’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about it, a-an-- and-- we just-- I didn’t think it was hurting you like this, I-- I’m so sorry, we took too long, and _god_ I just thought maybe you’d figured out we liked you-- a-and that’s why you were pulling away--!”   
  
Octavio just blinked up at him, eyes still stinging and watery, face still stuck in an expression of surprise and confusion. His brain, which usually ran a mile a minute, felt stuck, like it was buffering. And then, it felt like it was going backwards. Backwards over the last few months, scrutinizing every single moment that he misinterpreted. All the lines that he just ran right over with his own conclusions, instead of stopping to look between them.   
  
Thinking about those hidden little moments they let him see. How, now he realized, they weren’t trying to make him feel isolated, like he was a stranger looking in-- but how they were trying to bring him into these special instances that that they shared with nobody else.   
  
He thought back to the nights he spent, watching movies with them. To the way Hound would idly place an arm around his shoulders and pull him in, how Elliott would let him lay with his head pillowed on his wonderfully soft thighs and comb nimble fingers through his hair.   
  
How their kitchen table, one day, went from only ever having two chairs, to three. How one night he noticed a third pillow with a silky green pillowcase, wedged right in the middle of their two usual ones. How there was always a third towel hung up by the shower. How one of their dresser drawers became suspiciously cleared of all clothing, except for all the articles he’d slowly forgotten at their place over time-- Until he just one day began to accept that he always had fresh clothes there, waiting for him when he needed them.   
  
He thought about how after a while, Elliott just always seemed to cook for three. How, even if he wasn’t invited to dinner and he happened to stop by, there just always seemed to be a portion for him set aside, and a third plate ready to be set just for him.   
  
Hound spoke up next. Their tone was as even and reassuring as always, and yet held a hint of something that he’d never heard before. Were they… Sheepish? “... We’ve been discussing how to maybe ask you… ask you to join us for dinner some night. Not here. Somewhere nice, and private. We wanted to… to ask you out.”   
  
For the first time in _weeks,_ Octavio’s chest didn’t feel dark and heavy. It felt like his lungs were balloons-- full of helium, ready to lift him off the ground.   
  
“... Like… Like on a date?” He asked. He hated how thick his voice sounded, but when he looked up to them, Hound was smiling. Subtly, but smiling all the same. And the light that reached their eyes… Maybe he was reaching a little far, but it looked awfully similar to the light that shone when they watched Elliott cook, or tinker with his tech, or pout in the mirror as he fussed over his eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. And he’d spent a lot of time watching them gaze at Elliott so lovingly, so he was pretty familiar with that special look they gave him. Having that tender gaze turned on him… It made him feel a little lightheaded. 

He thought back to how they looked when they met eye to eye for the first time, to the amusement and heat in their gaze when they had him cornered, and how much it contrasted with the softness in their expression now. The feeling that realization gave him was a whole new type of rush, one that he didn’t even know existed before this very moment.  
  
“Y-Yeah.” Elliott supplied now, holding Octavio just a little closer. He didn’t think it was possible for him to be squeezed tighter then he was being squeezed now, but he was sure Elliott could prove him wrong. “Yeah. L-Like a date.”   
  
His expression must’ve been priceless, because both Hound and Elliott’s faces cracked into the biggest and brightest smiles, and Octavio could already feel his body practically vibrating with energy. He hadn’t felt this hyped for a long time, and it felt good.   
  
“Oh-- shit, I’m free tonight--!” He piped up, and at that, they laughed. It was a good sound, even if Octavio felt his cheeks flush a little red. He hurriedly pawed away at his cheeks, wiping away the last evidence of tears. “I mean-- if you guys aren’t doing anything already…”   
  
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I have to make reservations.” Hound replied, “but as always, you’re welcome to be with us tonight.”   
  
“N-No pressure, though-- Just like, to watch a movie or something!” Elliott was quick to clarify, and Octavio found himself grinning, even if his eyes were still a little glossy and his nose was still runny.   
  
For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel that impending sense of doom at the thought of spending the evening with the two of them. For the first time in a _long ass time_ , he felt like he could just enjoy the evening squished on the couch, between his two favorite people, and not hate himself afterwards. 

For the first time in a long ass time, he felt good. _Really_ good. Like, he could run around the block four times in under a minute, and he didn’t even need stim to pull it off kinda good.   
  
“Yeah,” He answered, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. A movie night sounded like the perfect way to take this from the top, and Octavio was ready for a fresh start. This time, no misunderstandings, and no hesitation. He was all in. And from the way Elliot and Hound were looking down at him, they looked like they were all in, too. 

Doubting himself wasn’t his thing, anyways. Didn’t fit his lifestyle, and he decided he didn’t have room for that kinda mindset anymore. He liked to move fast, and anything that held him back just wasn’t worth his time.   
  
“Yeah, I could be down for that! Fuck it, we got a couch and a TV-- Lets go go _go_ !”   
  
Elliott’s eyes shined like stars, and Hound just laughed quietly. He could feel them nuzzle into his hair, and he beamed.

And when he found himself once again, squished on the couch, lounging against Hound’s side, Elliott’s messy curls in his lap and a fistfull of popcorn in his mouth, he decided that maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea to come over, after all. Scratch that-- it was one of the top idea’s he’d ever had.

  
Fuck it, maybe even the best.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> can you tell the ending is rushed? i pretty much only ever write angst so fluff does not come naturally to me, so sorry if it sounds really cluttered. i could've had someone beta this for me but honestly this fucking MONSTER of a fic has been sitting in my drafts for so long, i just wanted it OUT and GONE. seriously, this is the longest think i've ever written. 7.4k? absolutely ridiculous. its not even that long, really, but thats long to me lmao. 
> 
> anyways, finally these idiots figured their shit out and all ends well. dw though, i have a hell of a lot more mirocthound fluff in the works and this isnt the last you'll see of these three. maybe one day ill grow the courage to post nsfw content, but today is not that day. 
> 
> anyways as always, i am once again asking you to leave comments. 
> 
> they feed me.


End file.
